


Alight With My Brain

by Whiteasy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24965890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whiteasy/pseuds/Whiteasy
Summary: Reiner and Bertholdt are happily married, when the last thing they expected to happen to any of them threatened to ruin what was supposed to be a celebration of their first wedding anniversary.
Relationships: Reiner Braun & Bertolt Hoover, Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	Alight With My Brain

Bertholdt groaned softly when he felt the bright light filtering from the blinds of his bedroom hitting his face. He pulled the covers high up his head, in attempt to shield himself from it, albeit to no avail. 

He was already woken up, and he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anytime soon, not with the sounds of birds chirping outside. Couldn't he just get one day where he’s able to sleep through the entire morning, without any disruption? He wasn’t even asking much, it was–what day was it again? 

Feeling stricken by a sudden panic, Bertholdt reached hastily for his phone resting on the nightstand to check the date. It was Sunday, so he didn’t need to be up for work. It was also ten in the morning. 

Odd. He felt like he hadn’t gotten much restful sleep, because he had a splitting headache. He needed coffee and Aspirin in him, soon. Ish. Just a few more minutes before he properly got up, since it was still his day off. 

Bertholdt must have dozed off for a few more minutes, before he became aware of some noise close to him. More like, footsteps. And someone calling his name-- 

“Happy Anniversary.” A manly, deep voice breathed before he felt lips pressing into his forehead. 

He was abruptly seized by unshakable fear and as if on instinct, he blinked his eyes open, before he forcefully shoved away the man leaning over him. His heart was hammering inside his ribcage, and he was panting harshly, barely registering the man’s yelp, that was soon followed by the sound of breaking glass and plates. Bertholdt watched in equal confusion and horror as a dark liquid–coffee, by the smell of it–was quickly seeping into the man’s pajama pants. The guy in question was now standing by his bed, obvious shock etched on his face. 

“Bertholdt?” The man uttered, somewhat incredulous “What the fuck was that?” 

“How do you know my name?” Bertholdt blurted, voice shaky, and clutching his blanket to himself tightly, like a protective shield. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“And what are you doing in my–” the word ‘house’ soon died on his tongue when Bertholdt took in the unfamiliar bedroom. Oh no–he _didn’t_. 

“Bertholdt–” 

“Um,” Bertholdt clambered off the bed, legs shaking and threatening to give way underneath him, before he quickly scanned his surroundings. Yep, this wasn’t his place, and that only meant one thing. 

“Did we, like, hook-up last night?” Bertholdt asked, tentatively. He watched as the man cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“I’m sorry, what?” The stranger shook his head, huffing in response. 

“If we did, I must’ve been really drunk–I don’t actually remember drinking, though...” Bertholdt thought back to the previous night and frowned when he realized he didn’t remember a single thing “But, I have this massive headache so, I must’ve been really wasted to forget--” 

“OK.” The man held up his hands, as if in surrender, before he chuckled lightly “I see what this is, but, you win. You got me.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Drop the act, the joke’s not funny anymore.” The guy kneeling on the floor sighed as he assessed the mess done to the bedroom’s carpet, visibly cringing at the stains in the plush material. 

“It’s not a joke.” 

“Yes, it is. I know you, and I know your, sometimes, bleak sense of humor. And I have to admit, nice one. And right on our special day. Good job, I almost fell for it.” Bertholdt watched warily as he tried to pick up the broken shards, hissing when a sharp edge cut his fingertips. “I’ve been up for two hours making us this brunch, but you had to ruin it, for the sake of a bland joke.” 

“Like I said–I'm not joking.” Bertholdt reiterated again, tone serious, as he grew fed up with this man brushing off his words for whatever fantasy he was wrapped up in. What anniversary was he talking about? 

“Bertholdt, come on.” 

“No, seriously, how do you know my name?” Bertholdt asked again, voice urgent, and hoping that this time it would deliver the point home “And how come I don’t know yours?” 

“Jesus, you’re really set on dragging this longer than needed–it's not funny--” 

“Who. Are. You?” Bertholdt cut him short, clenching his shaking fists to his sides. He felt cold sweat run down his back, and took a step backward when the man rose again on his feet, his laid-back expression falling. 

“Bertholdt, this is really not hilarious.” The man walked toward him, with obvious reluctance. 

“Stop calling me by my name, and tell me yours, or I’m calling the police.” Bertholdt rose his index finger in what he hoped was an intimidating warning. 

“Bertholdt, this is not a fucking joke – stop it. If it’s a prank, you’re taking it too far.” The stranger’s voice was now oddly shaking. 

“Stay _back_.” Bertholdt barked, nostrils flaring. He quickly scanned the room for any object he could snatch, in case things went south. Where the fuck was his phone? 

“Oh my _god_.” Bertholdt was thrown off by his crestfallen expression “You’re serious.” 

“Tell me who you are, and where we are, or I will press charges for kidnapping--” Before he could even finish his threat, the unknown guy abruptly turned his back to him, before he stormed off the room. Bertholdt heard the faint sound of a lock being turned in the distance. He let out a ragged breath, suddenly feeling like there wasn’t enough air in the room. 

Crisis averted. For now. 

He needed to get out though, soon. Bertholdt quickly grabbed his phone from its spot in the mattress and searched the room for any belongings of his. No sight of any of his clothes on the floor, or anywhere. He instinctively looked down at his own clothes–are those _pajamas_? 

Just, what the _fuck_ did he get himself into? 

Bertholdt winced when he felt his head throbbing again. Why couldn’t he remember anything from the previous night? How did he get here? Who was that guy? 

So many questions that needed to be answered, but Bertholdt was in no state of mind to try. He needed to bolt. 

Bertholdt ran through the corridor, chancing furtive glances behind him, in case the man followed him. He took the stairs two steps at once, almost tripping on his own feet in his haste. 

He didn’t know what exactly made him stop in his tracks, but he found himself staring fixedly at the wall of a long hallway. Or rather, at the pictures hung on its surface. 

Bertholdt felt dread pool in the pit of his stomach when his own face stared back at him, in almost every framed picture adorning the pasty wall. There was one of when he was a kid, back in his hometown, his sickly then mother kneeling beside him on the ground and hugging his bony shoulders to her tired, pale face, grinning widely. Another was of him holding his own law degree, his dad resting his hand on his shoulder, proud of his only son. In another, Bertholdt was standing in front of the Eiffel tower, huddled in a thick woolen coat, clearly uncomfortable with the cold weather. He scanned the other pictures, marveling at some which he remembered the occasions they were taken for, and furrowing his brows at others he didn’t recognize. 

Bertholdt felt himself grow even more confused when he noticed the figure that was present in almost all of those photos. He felt his heart racing wildly again, when his gaze finally landed of a picture of them both by the beach, the sky an orange hue from the sunset. Bertholdt was clad in a black tuxedo, his hand cupping delicately the face of the same figure he had noticed in most of his pictures, it being of the blond man he just found himself in his house mere moments ago. 

As if on cue, Bertholdt held up his left hand and felt his stomach turn to lead, when the golden band on his finger shimmered under the daylight. The metal suddenly felt too cold on his tanned skin. 

Bertholdt felt like he was going to pass out. 

He didn’t know how long he’s been sitting on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, and trying to get his breathing under control. 

How was he supposed to make sense of any of this? Last he remembered, he was working as a clerk in a bookstore after having graduated from law school, and living in a studio in Brooklyn. Then, on a Sunday morning, he wakes up in a house he couldn’t have afforded even if he worked for twenty years more at his unrewarding job, and married to a guy he had never seen before, not even once. And for some time too, apparently, if he still correctly grasped the meaning of the words _happy anniversary._

How should he proceed from now on?

Now that he knew that this was his permanent residence, he couldn’t just venture outside when he had nowhere else to go. He didn’t feel like barging on any of his friends, let alone drive all the way back to Staten island. He would only make his father worry about him. His dad had to worry about his own health, instead of his son’s out-of-the-blue memory loss. 

How did these things even happen? Did he hit his head before going to sleep? Was he having a stroke? 

Bertholdt felt his headache worsen, the more he ruminated on every possible reason for his condition. 

OK, before he gave himself an aneurysm on top of an amnesia, he needed painkillers, now. 

Bertholdt closed his eyes, breathed in, then breathed out, before he rose back on his feet. He dragged his heavy limbs, searching every room, and wondering what sort of job his... _partner_ had, to afford such a huge house. He sighed in relief upon finding the kitchen. He trudged toward one of the red sandalwood cupboards, before he retrieved a glass and filling with tap water. He swallowed two pills of the Ibuprofen he found on the marble countertop, and closed his eyes, waiting for the medication to kick in. 

“I’m taking you to the hospital.” Bertholdt startled at the stranger’s–his husband's– hoarse voice. He was glad he wasn’t holding his glass anymore, or it would’ve also ended up a shattered mess on the floor. 

Bertholdt took a look at the brawny blond stood in front of him. He was at least four inches shorter than Bertholdt. Not that odd, frankly, he was objectively taller than everyone he knew. But his slumping shoulders, his hunched posture, made him look even smaller. His skin was fair, but he looked even paler, and his cheeks were wet with tears. 

Bertholdt felt a pang of guilt when he thought about how this man also woke up, on his own wedding anniversary, to find out that his husband no longer remembered him. 

Still, no matter how hurt he was, Bertholdt had the right to decide for himself what he wanted. 

“No.” The taller man was frankly surprised at how clear and resolute his voice was, when he was feeling so shaken inside. 

“I know you’re scared, but we need to see a doctor so he can help you–so he can fix this.” Bertholdt knew he had a point. He had no medical knowledge but, he knew this needed professional help. Yet, the prospect of being poked and prodded at and shoved into different machines, without anyone explaining what they thought was going on with him, made him shudder. He couldn’t deal with it, not now. 

“I’m not going. I’m figuring this out on my own.” 

“You’re--” Bertholdt watched as the man in front of him pinched the bridge of his nose, before exhaling heavily “You’re a _lawyer_ , not a doctor. They have to make sure your life is in no danger. You could easily be having a stroke--"

“I’m not. I’m walking just fine, my vision is as good as it’s always been and you can tell I have no issues talking--” 

“Bertholdt, I don’t care, OK? I’m taking you to the hospital and that is final.” 

“No, it’s not–you can’t force me to go anywhere.” Bertholdt argued back, willing his voice to not crack, because he was frankly scared and confused and needed some time alone to understand what’s going on with him. 

Bertholdt clenched his fists to his side, trying not to panic as a heavy silence settled between them. He watched warily as the man ran trembling hands over his face, then through his blond strands. Bertholdt didn’t even miss the way he tried to blink away tears, and swiped angrily at a treacherous stray one that flowed down his cheek. 

“I’m going to see Pieck.” _Who’s Pieck?_

Before Bertholdt could ask him about it, the stranger stalked out of the kitchen. Soon after, Bertholdt heard the front door slamming shut, and he felt himself cringe at the thought of the stocky blond going outside in his coffee-stained pajamas. 

Resigned to his fate, Bertholdt went about his usual morning routine, which took him longer than usual since he wasn't familiar with his surroundings. 

He sat in the living room, marveling silently at the Chesterfield sofa and feeling extra cautious about spilling any coffee on the immaculate furniture. He had found his laptop resting on the floor on the coffee table. The familiar piece of technology brought him an unmistakable sense of calm, and he felt relief wash over him when the password he had used for years actually worked. 

His desktop was littered with files of cases he must’ve been working on. His husband did mention he was a lawyer, and technically since he had the degree for one it couldn’t have meant much, but he probably quit his job in the library and became a lawyer, a proper one. That thought alone filled Bertholdt with joy, knowing that even if he didn’t remember it, one of his childhood dreams became true. 

He opened his navigator and typed _memory loss_ in the search bar, before he was instantly greeted with numerous articles about the subject. Bertholdt immediately clicked on the first one from _MedlinePlus._ Even with his slim medical knowledge, Bertholdt was still able to rule out some causes to his condition. For a starter, this had nothing to do with him aging – he was twenty-three. Or, he remembered he was, when a furtive glance at the date told him that he had been missing not one, not two, but **four** years of his life so far. So, twenty-seven. Still, young. Very young even, as long as he hadn’t hit his thirties. This wasn’t a starting case of dementia either, given his young age too. He didn’t know of anyone in his family, close and extended, who suffered from Alzheimer, and even if his grandma sometimes forgot where she had last put her medicine and blamed her daughter in law of stealing them, her doctor has put it to the account of a physiological aging process. Nothing to worry anyone about. 

He might have had a concussion though. Might've even blacked out, but how would he know? When you black out, you don’t exactly remember blacking out. This might be one of the reasons he definitely had to go and see a doctor. The next few causes had him shudder at the mere possibility, when his gaze landed on the words _brain tumor, chemotherapy_ and _brain infection_ –he definitely felt his heart sink when he caught the term _HIV._ Being possibly an epileptic was no easy feat either. 

Bertholdt reached for his coffee, and took a tentative sip, grimacing when he realized it had turned too lukewarm for his taste. He set it back on the glass furniture, before he leaned back in the cushions, sighing heavily. 

It was a lot to process. He could barely begin to accept the fact that his life had changed so drastically in the last four years that he barely recognized any aspect of it, there was also the high chance that he might also need to make peace with the fact that he was suffering from a serious disease, and that his days could be numbered at this point. Was that why his husband was making him brunch in bed for their anniversary? Or was that him being a sappy romantic? Were those a rare occurrence for special occasions? Or were they more common and in harmony with the nature of their relationship? 

Bertholdt remembered seeing a date imprinted on one of their wedding photos, so he knew they had been married for a year. Perhaps it was just some newlyweds' enthusiasm about anniversaries, that would soon fade throughout the years. 

Bertholdt groaned frustratingly. He didn’t even know what kind of man he had married, to even understand what kind of marriage he was in. 

He went back to his laptop, rereading the same, morbid stuff over and over again, as if that’d miraculously enlighten him on what the fuck was going on with him exactly. Bertholdt squinted his eyes, when his gaze latched onto a term which he believed he had skipped before. 

_Transient Global Amnesia_

He felt hope bloom in his chest when he read the word _temporary_ between parentheses. And just like that, he found himself spending almost two hours reading every article about it. Most doctors had deemed it a diagnosis of exclusion–so basically, he still had to get thoroughly examined by a doctor–but a lot of it resonated with him. Granted he was too young to experience such episodes but, he had struggled with migraines ever since he was a kid. His mother did too, from what he could remember of his childhood before she passed away when he was still seven. He still remembered who he was, had no issue naming objects and read without difficulties, so his cognitive faculties haven’t been impaired. He realized that he also still recognized the people he had known well. 

Transient memory loss was not only temporary, but also almost without consequences. Bertholdt was reassured to know that if he was having such an episode, he didn’t have any high risk of a stroke or a seizure. 

He knew that this could barely qualify as a proper diagnosis of his condition but, the thought of not dying any time soon brought him immense relief. And he desperately wanted to cling to that hope. 

Worst case scenario, he was still going to see a doctor, be it today or tomorrow, so in case things did go south, he at least needed to believe that everything would turn out OK. That in the matter of mere hours, his memory would come back to him–they did point out it happens gradually in less than twenty-four hours–and this would merely be a bad day among many others. 

Maybe then, a book clerk living in such an extravagant house in the Upper East Side of Manhattan would start making sense again. 

Bertholdt lowered the lid of his laptop shut, before trudging back to the kitchen to wash his mug. He then went through the fridge and pulled out a half-finished container of Greek yogurt. He poured some granola on it before he set about exploring the rest of the house. 

For the second time that morning, he wondered what kind of work his husband did. Truthfully, Bertholdt must’ve had a steady, above average income if he had that many clients. He had stumbled upon his own office on the first floor, and he felt ecstatic to know that his career did finally take off. 

So, he and his partner had built themselves a stable, quite prestigious life. Something Bertholdt would’ve never imagined to have four years ago when he was bordering on being broke. 

It made him feel good about himself, but it also intrigued him. Especially when his thoughts kept inevitably circling back to the man whom he had chosen to spend the rest of his life with. How did they meet? Bertholdt knew that it mustn’t have been that recently if they were already married and celebrating one year together. Unless Bertholdt had actually jumped head first into this relationship. 

He frowned at the thought. That wasn’t like him. Last he remembered, he wasn’t seeing anyone, save for the one-night stand with Nanaba, his superior at work. They first blamed it on the alcohol, but by the second time, the blond had to confess to him that she didn’t want to be the kind of boss who slept with her employees. Bertholdt didn’t want to be one of those people either so, they resumed a professional relationship after that. 

And for quite some times, things haven’t been exactly amazing relationships-wise but, it wasn’t anything that was out of his character. Bertholdt had always been a quiet man, who kept to himself. He had dated other people on and off, and even though they weren’t all awful, they weren’t exactly worth pursuing anything serious with them. 

So, him being married and settling down with someone was a novelty to him. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it, no matter how much he tried. 

The best people he had known were Annie before she told him she was both asexual _and_ aromantic, but also not interested to be in any relationship with anyone, then Marcel after that, whom was still very much gay, but was too free-spirited, too unrestrained for Bertholdt to keep dating him for more than six months. 

When Bertholdt stood again in front of the wall adorned with their pictures, he knew that this was different, as unfamiliar as that was. And for lots of reasons. 

Bertholdt stared in awe at a picture of them both in a snowy place–Iceland, hopefully, he always wanted to go there one day–where his husband was smiling shyly at the camera he was holding, with Bertholdt by his side, eyes closed and kissing his forehead. Another one of them was in Yamanashi, Japan, where they were apparently trying to have a better view of Fuji-san. Bertholdt was wearing a black mask on his face, winking (since when was he this cocky?) at the camera, his partner laughing heartedly at something Bertholdt must’ve said. 

That specific photo, and every other one where the focus was drawn to the blond man’s smile, made his heart skip a beat. 

For a long time, Bertholdt had firmly believed that the best he could, well, _score_ –he cringed at his choice of word regarding his relationships–were Annie and Marcel. They were gorgeous, smart and unique in their own, peculiar ways. 

A look at his husband told him he had actually hit the jackpot.

Bertholdt felt himself flush. How did he get such a handsome man to marry him? A gorgeous, almost athletic, successful man when he was nothing but a law school graduate, and an almost broke bookshop clerk in Brooklyn. The guy was also kind, thoughtful and caring, as Bertholdt had gathered from their short interactions that morning. He felt remorse for letting him go out in his pajamas when he was only feeling distressed at what was going on with his husband. He was visibly shaken and Bertholdt hoped that whoever the person ‘Pieck’ was could take care of him. 

Bertholdt had often wondered, ever since he woke up, what kind of life he had been leading for the past four years. He had immediately got a rough idea of how well-off he’s been but, he had been initially reticent about whether or not this life, and his relationship with that man, was what he wanted. 

He wondered whether or not he was happy to be where he was. Granted, happiness wasn’t realistically an obtainable, ever-lasting feeling, and the desperation for it was exhausting and toxic but, he needed to know that the Bertholdt who chose this life, was actually content with it. That he didn’t want to trade it for anything else. 

The longer Bertholdt looked at those photos of him and his husband, the more convinced he became that maybe things did work out for him after all. He prayed to a god he barely believed in that he did the right thing, for once in his life. That the pictures that were his only physical proof of the life he definitely had even if he didn’t remember, weren’t a mere pretense, a mirage of a good life that wasn’t real. 

Bertholdt felt his headache come back at full force, the more he ruminated on something he couldn’t possibly know. 

He went back upstairs toward his (their) bedroom and collapsed down on the comfortable mattress. 

He will definitely go see a doctor later, when he will wake up from his nap. 

\--------- 

Reiner didn’t know how much time had went by since he had first stormed of the house, and drove at an almost illegal speed toward Pieck’s apartment. 

He fell right into her comforting arms as soon as she swung her door open, before bursting into hysterical sobs. 

He had tried to keep up a calm demeanor for Bertholdt’s sake, needing to be composed and collected so he could figure out what the fuck happened to his husband. But he had his limits, because he was a human being and he was allowed to grieve. So, he ran away from him the first time, and locked himself in the bathroom, refusing to let his husband (if he even was that to him at this point) to see him having a mental breakdown. 

At first, he had really thought it was a dumb prank. Now, he still thought of it as a joke. A cruel, sadistic one from a god he had possibly angered to deserve losing the man he loved and wanted the most in his life. 

Because to him, this was a loss no one could fix, and one that left a gaping hole in his broken heart. Bertholdt might’ve been physically there but, him forgetting all about him was no different than him being dead. 

That's what he told Pieck, in mumbled words interspersed with whimpers and sobs. She admonished him for the thought, rightfully, but she still understood him.

So, he spent the last couple of hours or so in her place, her holding him to her chest and running her small hands up and down his back. She didn’t understandably find it in her to reassure him that he was worrying himself over nothing, because she couldn’t. Nobody could, unless they were a doctor.

And that’s what she told him eventually. 

“Reiner, I don’t think you should’ve left Bertholdt alone.” She began, tentatively. 

“I know but... I couldn’t stand looking at him and see t–that haunting gaze of his, that harrowing absence of a spark of recognition of who I was– _am_ –to him.” Reiner let out a ragged, pained breath before he resumed “I just couldn’t do it. I’m not strong enough to do it.” 

“You are strong, because I know you... And I know that no matter what happens from now on, you guys will figure it out.” 

“I don’t want to lose him–I _can’t_ lose him. Without him, I’m... _nothing_.” 

“It’s not true Reiner and, we both know it. And you haven’t even lost him yet. There might be something that you could still do, to help him.” Pieck pulled away gently from their hug, her features softening when taking a closer look at his face. He knew he looked terrible. 

He felt a momentary sense of peace when his friend thumbed his tears away, and couldn’t help but lean into her soothing touch. 

“I’m scared of what I’d find out.” Reiner whispered, lip wobbling as he felt himself on the edge of crying again. 

“It’s OK to feel that way. I’m scared too. But so is Bertholdt. That’s why I think you should go to him. You’re welcome to stay here anytime, always, but, right now, I know Bertholdt needs you. He might not really know it now, he can’t exactly voice that need but, we both know that he does and that he wants you to be there.” 

Reiner felt his stomach twist into uncomfortable knots at the thought of Bertholdt being lonely and lost, in a strange house. God, how could he leave him alone? He couldn’t begin to imagine what he was feeling. 

That thought alone brought Reiner to tears again. “I’m so _awful_ \--” Reiner whimpered in his hands, shoulders heaving as choked sobs racked his body “How could I leave him—The fuck is wrong with me? This was never about _me_ –why did I make it about me?” 

“Reiner.” Pieck reached for his hands to lower them gently from his face “You’re not awful. You’re a good man, and you always give yourself such a hard time for not giving more, when it’s OK if you didn’t. It’s alright to feel upset and cry and even run away. But you have to come back and face what happened, no matter how terrible it is. You have to be brave.” She leant up and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. 

_Brave_. Such an easy word to say when he’s feeling so devastated and disgusted with how much of a shitty, selfish husband he was, leaving his sick partner alone and struggling by himself to make sense of what happened.

Being brave terrified him when he was already so scared. 

But for Bertholdt, he will do it. He will be brave, and he will face the cruelty of their fate. 

He hadn’t lost Bertholdt, as long as he was still breathing. He will, no, **they** will get through this, no matter what. 

With that last thought in his head, Reiner hugged Pieck tightly in gratitude, confessing to her, not for the first time, how he would’ve been lost so many times without her. 

He drove back to their house, his heart racing, feeling apprehensive, hopeful, determined and chagrined all the same time. 

\--------- 

Bertholdt realized his ‘nap’ turned into a three-hour sleep when he woke up alone and cold in his bed, on a Sunday afternoon. His earlier headache had worsened even more with how much time he had slept during the day. Well, he would be needing his melatonin tonight. 

Bertholdt soon became aware of the sound of footsteps nearby, so he scrambled in a sitting position, wincing at the searing pain that shot through his temples with the motion. 

The movements of whoever was outside the bedroom soon halted, and Bertholdt felt his heart sink when he realized who it must’ve been, standing there, petrified and unable to face whatever he thought could be on the other side of the door. 

So, Bertholdt decided to end his misery, with a lump on his throat as the memories of that morning flooded his brain. 

He practically ran for the door, never reaching for the door handle as fast as he did then. He was soon met with Reiner’s tear-streaked face. 

“Bertholdt, I’m so--” His needless apology was cut short when Bertholdt immediately engulfed him in a crushing hug that muffled his surprised gasp. Bertholdt stooped and buried his face in his neck, feeling tears streaming freely down his cheeks. 

“I’m the one who needs to apologize.” Bertholdt croaked against his soft skin. 

“No, you don’t.” Reiner rasped in his hair, and Bertholdt soon felt wetness pool on his own face and neck. 

“Then neither do you.” He murmured, a choked sob escaping his lips. He inhaled the smell of Reiner's skin before pressing a long kiss to his pulse, relishing in his husband's soft gasp. He tried to seal its memory in his brain, incredulous for a moment at the thought of ever forgetting who this perfect, kindest man was to him, and terror-stricken at the thought of that happening again. 

Before he could let his brain wonder about that morbid possibility, he pressed another kiss to Reiner’s neck then moved upward to his jaw, then his cheeks, and the corners of his eyes, kissing his tears away. Reiner let him hold him and smother him in his hopeless attempts for affection and comfort. He clutched at his shoulders, nails digging almost painfully in his skin. Bertholdt still felt grateful for that touch, for anything he could get from the man he loved the most and never wanted to be separated from, not even for a second. Call that unrealistic, wishful thinking but, he fucking needed to believe that right now. 

Bertholdt had dragged him to bed, despite Reiner’s feeble protests and demands that they should immediately go see a doctor. Bertholdt promised that they would do exactly that later, because right now, he needed him. He needed to hold him against his chest, their closeness grounding him and preventing his racing mind from wandering places he didn’t want it to. 

Reiner kissed him sweetly, and Bertholdt almost melted the moment their lips moved against each other slowly, carefully, like two pieces of the same puzzle fitting together. 

_It’s OK. I’m here, I love you_ , Bertholdt kept whispering to him, the words a soft mantra that lulled his husband to sleep, the exhaustion from the day’s events catching up to him. 

He didn’t know what exactly had happened, and although the answer to that frightened him to no end, he was at least glad he had Reiner, alive and well, to hold onto, to love. And whatever fate awaited them, he'd try to find him again, no matter how many times, tears and heartaches it'd take them. 

A sudden, almost laughable thought struck him then, given everything that had happened in the course of mere hours that day. 

"Reiner?" Bertholdt whispered to the sleeping man in his arms, smiling fondly when the blond scrunched his nose before humming lightly.

"Hm?"

"Happy Anniversary."

**Author's Note:**

> Then they go see a doctor and it turns out that Bertholdt had an episode of Transient Global Amnesia. It might happen again and as frightening as that could be, they will both be prepared.
> 
> However, to anyone that might witness such episode from another person, don't hesitate to call for help the moment the person lapses into a state of confusion, repeating questions such as 'where am I' and 'what's happening' over and over again, despite receiving clear answers to their questions. Because their life could be very well in danger then, even at the lack of a physical cause. 
> 
> Stay safe and healthy. Thanks for reading xx


End file.
